Two Ships
by abc79-de
Summary: Jess stops in to pick up something left in Stars Hollow. Rory stops to crash in her old bed for a night. Neither is expecting company, but they find it nonetheless.


Story title: Two Ships

Ship: Lit

Description: Jess stops in to pick up something left in Stars Hollow. Rory stops to crash in her old bed for a night. Neither is expecting company, but they find it nonetheless.

Rating: M

Jess Mariano had no concern about keeping quiet to avoid inconveniencing anyone inside the house as he'd been assured the house would be empty. Yet he stuck to the shadows and minded that he avoided making heavy footsteps on the pavement as he got close to the residence. He was well within his rights—he'd been granted permission, allowed access to a key, and was in the process of retrieving his own property—but there were prying eyes behind each and every neighboring house's windows, at the ready to investigate any perceived domestic disturbance. That outcome he was more than happy to avoid. The house he was about to enter was just a house, after all. It was a house that had been many things to him over the years, though it was never his home. He'd spent time there off and on over the years for a variety of reasons, but now it was just his uncle's home and documents that had been entrusted to his uncle years ago on his behalf were waiting on the kitchen table for him to pick up while his uncle and his uncle's new wife were enjoying a week away on a remote beach at a destination he didn't bother remembering.

He'd never gotten the hang of calling the original owner of the house his aunt. He barely felt comfortable calling her anything other than her first name. After all the years that had passed, their relationship had been remodeled, much like the house. But he was still in no hurry to spend more time than necessary in her house or this town.

He'd palmed the key after shaking it easily from its home in the ceramic turtle—a practice that was only safe in towns like this. Not only was crime non-existent, but the neighborhood watch was scarier than any SWAT team that might show up to take down any burglar dumb enough to take the time to find the turtle instead of just jimmying one of the locks. After all, there was only one on each door. He could never get used to living like that.

The lock on the back door turned easily, and he closed it quickly behind him. He didn't bother to turn the bolt back. But he did instantly still. The house that he'd been assured to be empty, for him to drop by at his leisure given the residents' week-long departure, seemed to be otherwise occupied. It was clear from the noises coming from what he surmised as the downstairs bathroom, that he was not alone in the house. The house was dark, and when the noises stopped, he wanted to tell himself that he'd simply imagined the sound of the tap being turned on and off and of water running. It wasn't a normal thing to do, for a burglar to stop in the washroom to freshen up in the midst of a crime, but then again, this wasn't a normal town. At any rate, he slid his hand down to grab the baseball bat that was leaned up against the kitchen cabinets just on the other side of the door—a sign of his uncle's presence, no doubt. His fingers wound around the thicker end of the bat, keeping it at arms' length until he heard the door click open and light flood the hall for a millisecond before the unknown presence flicked it off and stepped into his direct line of view. He took a breath in and took a step closer, raising the bat up as the other person in the house became aware that they, too, were not alone.

And that person really, really wished that they had been wearing more than just a pair of underwear at that moment.

Rory Gilmore shrieked at the sight of the man standing her mother's kitchen, waving a bat in her general (and mostly naked) direction. She flew into her old room and slammed the door closed, ripping the robe she had at the ready over the back of the desk chair and snatching her cell phone off the nightstand, her fingers poised to dial 911 to report the silent intruder.

She would have dialed, too, had there not been a knock at her door. Did people who had already broken into your house knock on doors once in? What's one more door to open without permission?

"I'm calling the police!" she yelled at the door, though it seemed less necessary in her mind now. In fact, her fear had given way mostly to embarrassment. It had been dark, but light enough given the clear night and the bright moon shining in the downstairs windows to give whoever was on the other side of the door a pretty good look at her body. She tightened the robe around her.

On the other side of the door, Jess let the baseball bat slide down in his hands, and he leaned it against a hutch on the wall. "Rory?"

Rory's eyes closed. She squeezed them hard. This could not be happening. Her visit home had been so last minute that even her mother couldn't be around to see her. No one was supposed to be there. Any fear that had remained filtered into sheer embarrassment. She knew that voice. She hadn't heard it in a couple of years, but it wasn't one she was likely to forget, given their past.

"Jess?"

There was a pause. He put his hand on the doorknob, but didn't squeeze to twist it. "Yeah," he said simply.

He drew his hand back as the door opened slowly, her standing just inches from him. She did not look pleased. "What are you doing in my house?"

His eyebrow jacked up. "This isn't your house. You don't live here anymore."

She rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean."

He gave a half shrug. "That doesn't make what you said true. Or my being here any less justified. You scared me to death."

"Is that why you threatened me with a baseball bat?"

He smiled. "You're lucky you were naked. It distracted me. Otherwise I probably would have hit you."

A blush instantly colored her features. He took a moment to enjoy the sight of her. The smooth skin under the 'V' formed by the robe crossing over her chest. The delicate collarbone peeking out at him. Her neck highlighted by her hair swept up in some fashion. Her eyes were fixed on him, and he wondered how he measured up in her eyes. If her intensity was any reflection, she liked what she saw as much as he did. But then again, attraction had never been their problem.

"I was not naked," she managed.

He nodded. "My apologies, I misspoke. Though, those panties didn't leave much to my imagination."

She pulled her robe a little tighter. He smiled a half-smile. "Why are you here, again?"

He cleared his throat. "Luke had some papers of mine. He said the house would be empty and for me to swing by whenever I had time. And I had time now."

Rory glanced at the clock on her bedside table. "Surely you have something better to do at eight o'clock on a Saturday night."

He shrugged again, noncommittally. "Don't you have anything better to do at eight o'clock on a Saturday night?"

"I hate it when you do that," she huffed.

He nodded. "I know."

"Then why do you do it?" she pressed, trying to clamp down her exasperation.

"Because sometimes I'm genuinely curious."

His words threw her for a second. "I'm only here for a night. The lure of a place to do my laundry without having to jam my iPod in my ears and pretend I don't speak English until my clothes are dry was too good to pass up."

"Sounds fair. Can I ask you one more question?"

"Because you're curious?" she inquired.

He nodded. "Do you always walk around in just your panties when you do your laundry? Or are they all you had left clean?"

"That's really what you're curious about?" she asked with a modicum of dignity.

"Well, it probably wouldn't be on my mind if I hadn't actually seen you doing it," he shrugged as he attempted to put the responsibility for his continued attention on her naked form on her.

"What papers did you need?" she circumnavigated their prior conversation. She was pretty good at it, having had lots of practice in the past. It was one of the qualities she liked best about him; he'd humor her, even if she knew he wouldn't drop his previous line of thought forever. Her panties would remain in the back of his mind while they discussed other matters.

"My birth certificate."

"You don't have your own birth certificate?"

"Liz sent it to Luke when I came to stay with him, to enroll me in school. I didn't need it until now, so he unearthed it and left it for me to pick up."

"Why do you need it now?" she pressed.

"Passport."

"Yeah? Anywhere exciting?" she asked, her interest genuine. He loved that about her. No matter who she was talking to, there were always two subjects that she truly cared about discussing: books and travel. They had that in common.

"I have a flight to London in a couple of months. But I probably won't get to see much of the city if my companion has her way."

Rory stilled. "You're going with a woman?"

He watched as an otherwise imperceptible flash moved across her face. He caught it, but only because he'd seen it before. Jealousy. It didn't suit her, but it did flatter him. "More of a hired handler, but officially she's a press agent."

Her face relaxed. "A book tour?"

He smiled. "It's hard to get anything past you. I hope someone hired you. I'd hate those journalistic skills to go to waste."

She nodded. "That's why I'm home for just a night. I never really found a place to live after I graduated Yale—I've been on Obama's campaign tour, on a bus with forty other reporters for, what? A year now? More than… gosh. Anyway, it's sort of crazy, but after he became the nominee, it's been like a speeding bullet. My boss keeps promising me a less hectic life after the election, but I don't know. I kind of like being on the road, you know?"

"Kerouac was a genius, I've been telling you for years," he said with a comfortable nod.

"Yeah, well, I haven't written a book, but I've definitely been out in the middle of things. I've seen the country and then some. But London," she sighed. "You'll love it."

"I plan on sneaking away and seeing a few sights on my own. Maybe you should make me a list, since you're the world traveller."

She smiled. "I can do that."

He paused and pointed his thumb back to the fridge. "Hey, I know you haven't been home much, but you do know the best part of Luke moving into this place is, right?"

She smiled. "I do."

"You hungry?"

"You cooking?"

He took a moment to openly think about her question. Then he pointed to her robe. "Tit for tat."

"Making me a sandwich is not a good excuse to see my boobs. Besides, you've already seen my boobs. You should be showing me something, if we're playing your little game."

He smirked and stepped just a little closer. "Is that a request?"

She couldn't help it. Her eyes darted down his body as fast as she could manage given that she seemed to have no control over their movement. His face she knew. It appeared a little older, but still as handsome as ever. Under his t-shirt, she knew what to expect. That was tempting enough. But just lower—that was an area that she hadn't quite gotten around to fully exploring back when they'd been free to roam and learn each other's bodies. She was tempted to fan herself with her robe, but that would most definitely give him the wrong idea. She was not going to attack him just because he happened to walk into her mother's house. She has more self-control than that. She was almost positive of that fact.

He cleared his throat. Her eyes sheepishly met his. "Huh?"

"I said," he repeated in a slow, deeper version of his normal voice—the version that could turn the cartilage in her knees to jelly, "is that a request?"

"No," she shook her head, as if he were crazy. As if she hadn't just been allowing herself the pleasure of reviving a very specific memory of being half-naked and horizontal with him years ago. It wasn't that she never thought of him, but it seemed prudent to keep their interactions in the real world on a much more platonic keel given their past history. For some reason, in her mind, they'd been friends at some point. She'd have to ask him his opinion on the subject someday. She slipped past him and sat down at the kitchen table still clad in just her robe. "But I will take a sandwich if you're really going to make one."

He remained rooted in place for a moment. He wasn't sure if she was being coy or simply oblivious to her own reactions. He'd learned that when all else failed with this woman, his only course of action was to do what she asked or walk away. He moved to pass the table and had one hand on the refrigerator as he noticed her gingerly picking up the top sheet of paper from a short stack that was waiting on the table for him. He could stop her, but honestly he knew resistance was futile. Besides, he was too hungry to argue over whether or not she should be rifling through his personal effects. Let her look, he thought as he focused on sandwich assembly.

"Jess William Mariano?"

He found some ham and cheese in the meat drawer and tossed them on the counter. He opened the vegetable bin and hoped for the best. He was rewarded with lettuce and tomatoes, and he was certain that he had his uncle to thank for providing a full meal. Lorelai, he was certain, had never bought a tomato willingly a day in her life. Unless it was on a dare. He was willing to bet she'd done a lot of things in her life due to dares.

"I never knew your middle name was William."

He gave a shrug as he located the bread and opened the utensil drawer to begin cutting up the tomato. "So?"

"Isn't that your grandfather's name?" she surmised.

He nodded without taking his eyes off the fruit he was slicing. "That's what they tell me. I don't remember him."

He finished assembling their sandwiches and she continued to read the most basic of facts about his life. "Your birthday is in July?"

His eyes flickered over to hers. "It is a notarized document you're looking at. You don't need my confirmation; and none of that is news to me. Except maybe how much I weighed at birth. That I don't know," he offered truthfully.

"Seven pounds, ten ounces," she read off diligently.

"You learn something new every day," he said as he slid a plate in front of her and sat down next to her with his own plate. They each took a bite and chewed in relative silence, her still eying his birth certificate with interest and him watching her with the same.

"You know, if you're so interested in my birth, you should go to my mother's house. She'd be glad to show you pictures and tell you all sorts of horribly inappropriate stories about her labor."

Rory looked up. "All moms do that. My mom used to tell me the story of my birth every year on my birthday, just at the time I was born."

"I never said either of our mothers were the picture of mental health," he said before taking off another big bite.

"Guess I can't argue with that. What's all this other stuff?" she asked, placing the top document to the side.

"Dunno. Stuff Liz had and sent to Luke, I guess. I just asked for the birth certificate," he admitted.

She saw lists of inoculations, report cards, and various other personal records among the stack. "Hah! I knew it!" she smiled up at him.

"What?" he asked with a mostly full mouth.

She held up his kindergarten report card. "You were a good student at some point," she said triumphantly.

"Yeah, I peaked early," he rolled his eyes at her.

"It says here that you colored inside the lines, could count to one hundred, were able to tie your own shoes, and that you were reading at a second grade level," she read, clearly impressed at the last one. "That's one talented five-year-old."

"It's not a shock that I like to read."

"I was more impressed with the tying your own shoes. I couldn't do that until I was six."

He leaned back in his chair. "So if I would have shown up tomorrow night, where would you be?"

She put the report card down. "I believe we're going to St. Louis tomorrow."

"And what do you do, when you're not working on the road?"

She shifted, now the one under scrutiny. "Uh, well, I read a lot. I turn on hotel televisions for noise and end up watching a lot of CSPAN, or CNN, just to see where the headlines are at. Sometimes that helps me steer my articles; I don't like to just regurgitate what everyone else is reporting."

"What else?" he asked.

She thought about it for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you have deadlines, but you meet them, and don't you have any time to just have a life?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. This kind of is my life right now. But I knew that, going in. When I accepted the job, I knew it meant I wouldn't have a home base, I wouldn't be keeping in regular contact with anyone other than my family for a while."

He nodded, pushing back his empty plate. "So, you and that guy?" he asked, his voice stripped to vulnerability. Not that he needed her to not be with the other guy; but it would be a nice change of pace. Especially since he'd had an impossible time trying to get the image of her breasts out of his mind after she'd walked out of that bathroom.

"Logan?" she asked, as if the wind were being pushed from her. "No, that's over."

His eyes met hers quickly. "How over?"

She sat back and picked at the edge of the crust on the small remainder of bread left on her plate. "When I graduated."

"Last year?" he asked, though he'd known the timing already. They should have been in the same graduating classes, had he ever graduated from anything.

She nodded and cleared her throat. "Yeah. I was still trying to figure out what I was going to be doing; I didn't have anything lined up yet, and he had just gotten a job offer out west. Then he proposed."

Her eyes cast back down at her plate and the small pieces she'd torn from the crust. Most of what remained was crumbs. His eyes did not leave her. "And you loved him," he reminded her, as if perhaps she might have forgotten. It was what she'd told Logan at the time as well, but that hadn't seemed to make enough of a difference to either of them as things fell apart.

"I did. But I still said no."

He remained silent for long enough that she was pretty sure she'd killed the conversation. It wasn't a topic she enjoyed discussing. No one ever knew what to say in response to her finding out she'd turned down Logan Huntzberger's marriage proposal. She assumed most people thought she was insane. But Jess didn't seem to be judgmental of her actions. "Do you regret it now?"

A small smile turned up the corner of her lips. "I got this job a couple of days later," she began, "and I'm finally doing what I always dreamed of doing. If I'd married him, I wouldn't have taken a job like this. So, no. I don't have any regrets."

"You can tell me it's none of my business," he began again.

"Just ask," she encouraged. "After all, I've been going through all your personal papers."

"Do you still love him?"

She chewed on the bottom of her lip. "I'm not in love with him, but I'm not sure I'll ever stop loving him completely. I mean, once you love someone, that's sort of a part of who you are, isn't it?"

She had his attention now. He'd been interested, certainly, as to her current romantic status; it was rare, after all, for him to find her completely single. But her words now had taken a turn that might be of more concern to him than he'd anticipated.

"Do you still love me?" he asked, his voice thick with what felt like anxiety. His heart was definitely racing, that was for sure, and his muscles had tensed. It was a strong reaction, to say the least, for someone who was simply sitting in a chair—even if he was sitting next to a beautiful woman who was wearing just a thin robe and a pair of lace underwear.

"Jess," she said with an air of pleading in her voice. She wasn't upset with him, but she spoke with an authority. "You know how I feel about you."

Now he was the one left without breath. "You told me you loved me."

"And you told me," she remembered. They were both recalling separate occasions—neither his finest. So much of what happened between them had failed to be what she deserved, at least in his mind.

"The timing, our timing, it was never the greatest. But I meant it. I'd wanted to tell you before. When you told me. Before that. I knew long before. When we were still together and things were good. I should have told you then."

She stood suddenly and grabbed her plate as an afterthought. She put it in the sink and gave a stilted laugh. "Well, it's probably best you didn't. I most likely would have had sex with you if you'd told me that back then."

She instantly wished to snatch back the words as they left her mouth. She heard him leave his seat and walk up behind her, not a second after he heard her speak. She closed her eyes and put her hands on the edge of the counter. She wasn't sure he'd touch her, but she was sure that his proximity would require a stabilizing force.

"Just to clarify," he said, now just inches away from her, his voice making her shiver just the slightest bit. "That would have been bad, right?"

"The timing; what you said, it was right. The timing would have been wrong," she managed, staring only at the sink that was empty save for her dish and mound of crumbs.

"Yeah, timing was never our strong suit," he admitted, though his voice was steady. He wasn't about to turn and walk away from her. She felt him take a step closer, and then his arms were locked out on either side of hers. His chest supported her back. He was solid around her. Her eyes closed again. "You know what our strength was."

And there it was. His lips were on her neck. She'd left her hair up when she showered, and since she hadn't gotten around to dressing before he showed up, she also hadn't bothered to take her hair down. He had inches of exposed skin available to him, all without moving a thread of fabric or a strand of hair. It'd been such a long time since she'd felt his mouth on her skin, but no matter how much time passed between occurrences, it always felt as good as the first time. And due to the nature of their first kiss, each time that followed always had an illicit air to it. Her heart was beating hard as his hands moved from the counter to her hips. His fingers rested on the swell of her curves before dragging up her torso, gently pulling the soft, thin fabric of her robe up slightly with him.

"We only had one?" she asked, taking his mind off the task at hand for a fraction of a second. He leaned away from the sweet smell of her skin, but kept his hands on her. She turned in toward him, so that she was looking up into his eyes. The only light in the room was streaming in from her childhood bedroom, like a beacon. Her eyes gave her away, to a point—the way she'd widened them, conveying more questions than just the one she'd posed aloud. He groaned as he pulled her hips against his, dipping his mouth down to hers. She was right; they'd had more than just a strong sexual connection once upon a time. Timing had been their nemesis. The same timing that put her back on the road at some point tomorrow morning, and him in London and then onto various European ports after she was free from her election frenzy.

With any other woman, their busy schedules that assured this being a one-night stand, for the time being at least, would have been an incentive. He felt no resistance from her as he kissed her—on the contrary, she was leaning into his touch, and she was on the verge of taking charge. He didn't want to slow the process. He'd been curious all these years, what her unraveling would look like. What her body felt like, inside and out. He was so close. She was literally in his arms, with no intention to flee. So, so very close. His breath came against her hair.

"Jess?" she asked, her voice thready as her breath had become labored. Her hand paused on his chest, and he glanced down to see her fingers gripping his t-shirt. "What?"

"Nothing," he kissed her once more and followed her lead as she stepped him sideways toward her room. His back met the doorframe, and she leaned up on her toes to achieve greater friction between them. He had never counted on it being him that unraveled with her.

She took a moment to observe him—pressed into the molding and reacting to her every touch. A lot had changed since they'd had such freedom with such intimate measures. She smiled as he stood in wait, leaning in to her. His hand brushed her cheek. "You sure you don't have anything better to do tonight?" she asked, taking the lip that he was anxious to feel against his between her teeth. She planned on using her teeth in her assault on his body as well.

He slipped one hand to the simple knot she'd secured her robe with earlier—in quite a haste, as it was already coming loose. It only took one finger to pull it out of what was left of the knot. "You were the runner. The only thing on my agenda tonight was coming here. I'm here."

She helped him with his task, taking both hands and pushing the two sides of the robe apart. It allowed him a partial view of what she'd unintentionally shown off earlier. This time, however, she was well aware of her audience. Her gaze locked on his—he failed to give into the temptation to appreciate what she'd offered. "Does it bother you, that I have to leave first thing tomorrow?" she hedged, surprised but not put off by his lack of escalation. After all, he hadn't backed away. He just hadn't reacted greedily.

"I don't expect you to change your plans based on one night of sex," he admitted truthfully. His hand moved fluidly up to her neck, his fingers easing up into her hair to guide the tie out of her hair. Her long brown locks fell down over her shoulders, loose and wavy; framing her face in the same way her robe was now showcasing her body. He licked his lips, unable to miss the soft curves and pale skin despite not yet putting his full attention to them.

"It doesn't really have to change anything," she responded genuinely as her hands gripped the front of his shirt at the waist and balled fabric into her palms. The idea didn't upset her, but he wasn't sure if lust was obscuring her normally good logic or if the notion was simply inconsequential—if he was just one in a string of one-night stands that she would encounter in her life. That thought gave him more than just pause. "It's just one night."

"Is that what we've amounted to?" he asked, kissing her at last, letting his hands move to her torso, skimming the hem of her robe—ready to slip underneath and guide them along her bare skin. Instead, he drew the edges closed over her and held them at her waist.

Her head leaned back against the opposite side of the door frame. "What are you doing?"

He nodded toward the back door. "I should probably go."

Her eyes widened. If she expected a fight, that might be one thing. She could hold her own against him, and she'd even enjoy it a little in the process. But she had no bargaining power if he just left. It was harder to rally an empty room. "I don't understand."

He closed his eyes. If he let go of her, she'd no doubt do her damnedest to distract his thoughts, and he had enough trouble with that at the moment. In all honesty, he had no desire to leave now, not with both of them so unsatisfied. A naked, beautiful woman was waiting for him to give up the illusion of gallantry and just take her, but for some unknown reason, he was holding back.

"Jess? Look, if there's some reason you shouldn't do this, that's one thing, but I promise you, no one else holds a claim to me. There's nothing holding me back this time. You can't tell me that you're not even the slightest bit curious," she led, skimming her hands down his arms, coming to rest over his closed fists. He could feel the ease in her hands, willing him to loosen his grip, to let go.

He let out a soft laugh. "Curious? You can't begin to fathom how much I thought about this when we were seventeen. Not to mention since."

"Somehow I think I can wrap my mind around it. The feeling has always been mutual," she smiled at him.

"Which made it intolerable at times to hold back," he leaned his head back, as far as he could get from her while still sharing the same doorway. "But after all those years of wanting to, it's a hell of a lot of buildup, don't you think?"

She shrugged and slid her hands to his wrists, now pulling his relaxed grip away from her modest covering. "I promise to share the workload."

She watched his whole body change as her robe fell open again. This time he drank in the sight of her and took a step closer. His reservations were not what she expected after he'd made the first advance on her. She'd had none and tried to stop them from forming as his hands covered her breasts while his lips were once again on her neck, working their way down toward his hands.

"Is this a bad idea?" she managed as she shuddered in delight from the tiny nips he was making at her collarbone. He had always been good with his hands, but she knew for a fact that his mouth was his secret weapon. Unguided and uninterrupted, he'd have her worked up into a state of unadulterated bliss in a matter of moments. At her question, however, his mouth broke from her body to answer her in kind.

"Do you care?" His question was brash, but not in a mean way. He didn't want to hurt her. He'd never set out to hurt her. Others, yes. But never her. She'd been collateral damage in his life.

"I," she breathed hard, feeling the push and pull of arousal and reality. Every other time there had been a clear victor, and it had always left her feeling incomplete. This was the first time she felt like she had an option, no matter the outcome. "I want you to make me forget any reason we shouldn't do this."

He nodded solemnly. He could be so serious, and it never failed to invoke her instinct to want to see what was behind his thoughts in these moments. "Do you need to get any sleep tonight?"

She caught the faintest glimpse in his eyes, the playful nature of his question revving up for what they were agreeing to. Questions and doubts were behind them, for the remainder of this night at least. What came after; that they'd deal with later. She pushed him back just slightly as she stepped into her old bedroom. She barely had to shrug her shoulders to encourage the robe to slide from her body, leaving her in just the small black lace underwear she'd pulled on after her shower. She wondered if she'd end up back in the shower at some point in the night, this time with him. She smiled at the thought of him behind her, using his hands to soap up her body, and the spray falling over them as he thrust up into her. She moved to turn out the light on her bedside table.

"Don't," he said as he stepped in and slid his shirt up over his head, tossing it down next to her discarded robe. "Leave the light on."

She pulled her hand away from the lamp and sat back on the bed, the twin mattress only intended for one. There wouldn't be a lot of space for maneuvering in such a small bed—not that they would be seeking out any personal space, save for the other's. She watched as he stepped closer to her, ridding himself of clothing until he was nearly as unclothed as she. Her breath hitched as he stood at the edge of the bed, wearing only his boxers. It struck her that this was a moment she'd imagined for so long that the anticipation was nearly overwhelming. Perhaps that had been why he'd turned to leave before things got to this point. He certainly didn't look ready to back off now. The way he was looking at her, at all of her, it was something she'd never encountered. He wasn't touching her, but she could feel his want, as if his desire radiated out to the object of his affection.

She reached out a hand to him. He allowed himself to be pulled onto the bed, but he covered her body with his the moment he joined her—unable to find ample room to lie next to her, and unwilling to delay the sensation of her body melded against his. He slid one leg between hers, pressing his thigh against her heat, and used one elbow to support his weight as he brushed her hair back with his free hand. She leaned into his hand, her eyes closing at the affectionate gesture. He'd been right—this wasn't just a one-night stand. Even if they didn't want this to change how they lived this lives, it wouldn't be up to them. They'd subscribed to the outcome by finally succumbing to satisfy years of wondering and at times, an aching need. She'd never denied herself anything as much as she'd denied herself of him. When she opened her eyes, she was awash with relief that he was still there, and that she was all he could see.

"You're beautiful," he said with a simple reverence. It made her flush, his words, though she could see he thought so. He had been studying her, like one takes their time looking at a piece of fine art. She'd lost count of how often she'd caught him looking at her like that in the past. This time, she was staring right back.

"You don't need to," she reached up and traced his bottom lip.

He took her finger between his teeth for a moment. "I know."

She kissed him then, not wanting to risk either of them speaking of love. Whether or not it was in the past tense for them, something had lingered. Maybe it was just lust that remained, but even then it had been rooted in so much more than that.

He pressed her further into the mattress as the kiss deepened. When he strayed down her cheek to her neck, she turned her face away into the pillow. A moan came from her throat as he reacquainted himself with one spot that he remembered from what sometimes seemed like another life. The taste of her skin was the same, the lure that kept him coming back and took the edge off of her not having been ready for more carnal activities. Even if she'd thought she was, he'd known better. For the longest time, it had been enough for him. She could have been everything he needed, in whatever way she was willing to be in his life. Now he was simply accepting what she was so generously offering.

She arched her back as he slid down her body, the drag of his skin on hers; of his lips on her chest. He was lost in his actions. The freedom to take his time with her, with all of her in any way he wished; it made his head spin. He held himself against her to keep himself steady, but the sounds she was making were enough to unhinge him. If he'd found her beautiful before, she was breathtaking now—relishing in the pleasure he was giving her. He didn't need to worry about the buildup or the hype. He should have known she would never disappoint him. He'd be damned if he let her down in this regard. He felt her fingers grip his shoulders as her body tensed.

"Jess," she managed, and he smiled against her skin as she shuddered beneath him. He was just getting started. He grazed her chest with his as he returned up to kiss her mouth. He eased one hand down her stomach, over the black lace in front to rub gently over where the fabric had grown damp. It was the one part of her he could not remember; he hadn't had the pleasure before now. The lace was rough against the pads of his fingers, and he knew it was giving her extra friction under his touch. Back and forth he rubbed, with a little more pressure each time as she pressed her body into his hand. He was growing slick from her, and he could tell from her breath that she was on the verge of calling out his name again.

She'd expected him to continue on until the sensation of the lace and his thumb spurred her to climax. In the interest of making up for lost time, he slid his fingers into the waistband and lowered her panties down and covered her now bared skin with his mouth. She cried out again, her head sinking back into the pillow as he used his tongue to sooth where the scratchy lace had rubbed against her. He anchored her hips with one arm and eased two fingers up inside of her, stroking her inside and out as her cries got louder. If he was only getting one night, he was going to make each moment count.

Her chest was rising and falling visibly, with a streaks of pink marring her otherwise porcelain skin of her chest—a direct result of the redirection of blood flow he'd commanded. Her eyes were dilated, even with the light shining on her face. She grabbed him the moment he ceased nipping at the skin over her hipbone and returned to her eyelevel. "Your turn," she whispered in his ear. The tone of her voice stirred something in his stomach, his body responding by tightening some group of muscles he normally didn't pay much mind to.

"I didn't do that for reciprocation purposes," he murmured against her skin, anywhere his lips could make contact. He laced his fingers into her hair, moving it out of the way so he could kiss just behind her ear, at her hairline.

"There are things I want to do to you," she spoke without missing a beat, in a tone that made him want, well, everything. Her, a different life, a host of responsibilities that came along with whatever a life with her entailed. "As much as you wanted to do that to me," she said knowingly. His appreciation for her body had clearly been acknowledged. "It's my turn to get a few things out of my system," she finished, not intending to sound so… final. He didn't want it to bother him that this was their one shot; he knew he had to take it if he wanted it. And he wanted her; of that he was certain. It didn't mean he had to like the circumstances of finally getting an open invitation.

"As someone who just got to satisfy their craving," he leaned up after allowing her to flip their position so she was straddling his lap with her legs, now with no cloth barriers between their flesh, "Keep in mind that once you know how good it is, you might find it hard to accept not getting to do it again."

She kissed him, hard; he wasn't sure if it was to shut him up or shut out the truth of his words. Hell, maybe she just liked the way his lips felt on her skin. Her tongue parted his lips instantly, making him nearly forget that he had an arguable point. He cradled her in his arms as she sat in his lap, her limbs wound around his torso. It was as close to true happiness as he'd ever felt. He leaned up into her, until she pulled back, with the glint back in her eyes. Whatever she wanted to do to him, he was going to let her do with relish.

Her touch was light at first, but not out of hesitation. She knew exactly what she was doing, with each and every stroke. Each spot on his body she paused at, sometimes tracing, sometimes teasing—they weren't tactical, but they were certainly purposeful. Her reasoning was simple; she wanted him to understand that he was just as desired as he'd always made her feel. He'd never needed to touch her to make her feel bare and anticipated. Knowing him, he was able to write off anything short of tangible proof as happenstance. She was leaving nothing to chance. And with her perfect memory, even if this was their only encounter it was going to last her a lifetime.

He watched her, leaned up on his elbows, as his best dreams played out. She was nearly at her destination, or so he assumed, when she winked at him. And then, much to his confusion, she pushed her body up off of him and climbed off the bed.

"You're all done?" he asked questioningly, a mix of disappointment and lust.

She simply shook her head. "Just getting started. Stay there."

If he didn't trust her, he'd follow her, but all he did was nod curtly. "Okay."

She flashed him a smile—not dissimilar to the first smile he'd ever seen on her face, in that very room. She was only gone a moment, and when she returned she tossed something on the nightstand next to the lamp and slid back down between his legs. He raised an eyebrow at the number of somethings she'd retrieved.

"How much stamina do you expect I have?" he asked, with a hint of laughter behind his voice.

She flashed another smile. "You promised me all night. Guess we'll find out. Better safe than sorry, right?"

"I should have been better prepared," he managed as she positioned her hand down to encase him.

"You'd have made a horrible Boy Scout," she informed him as she skimmed her hand back and slid her lips around his head, using her tongue to swirl around the entire tip.

"Jesus fucking Christ," he managed as his head fell back against the pillows.

"My point exactly," she admonished as she came briefly off of him, only to return to her task with a much less playful nature. Once she got going, she took no mercy, using her hands in conjunction with her mouth to pleasure him, just as he'd done to her. She'd never been one for power trips, but there was something addictive about taking control of someone like that. The closer he got to climaxing, the higher she felt. She kept her pace strong until after he came, not eager to stop. She slowed as he stabilized, taking her return journey along the slow, mesmerizing route back up his body. She mapped lines from muscles, kissed scars, and grazed everything in between.

"That was sexy as hell," he informed her, locking eyes with her.

"Oh yeah?" she smiled at him, not in effort to tease, but pleased with herself. "Does that mean you're ready to go again?"

He took a minute, which felt like a short eternity to her, to take in the sight of her. His hands, not keen on missing out on the experience, ran up and over her. "You do wonders to stimulate my sex drive," he informed her, kissing her stomach, then her breast. "You got any more of those?" he asked finally, motioning to the table.

"Someone's a little sure of himself," she managed as he used his thumb and forefinger to roll her nipple, gently at first, then giving it a firmer pinch. She gasped, and he smiled.

"I love a woman who needs convincing," he said as he kissed her again, not wanting to break contact as he reached for the first packet and readied himself to finally enter her. She gasped again when he thrust up into her. Satisfied he'd proven that point, he took to winding her back up, securing her breast with one hand as he leaned his head down to circle the tip with his tongue before sucking it between his lips. She met his thrusts with ease, tightening down around him to the point that he nearly lost concentration on everything but the feeling of being inside her. But then again, she'd always wreaked havoc with his attention in the past. His only wish in that moment was for a bigger bed.

The bed had been sufficient, in the end, to allow them to pass many hours without impeding on their satisfaction. In fact, some time near dawn, each came to realize separately that it was for the best to not have been given the luxury of space. They'd fallen asleep, despite best efforts, and yet they did not wake up on opposite sides of a bed with a worry of whether or not they should touch their companion. The bed gave them no option but to intertwine limbs and conserve precious space.

She woke up first—her head resting not against a pillow, but his chest. His arm was still wrapped around her back and her leg was nestled between and under one of his legs. His heartbeat was steady under her ear, and she smiled as she lay there with him still sleeping under her. It hadn't been a dream, or rather if she'd dreamed of him last night, it had only been a continuation of what had actually transpired before she fell asleep. She didn't notice that he too had woken until she heard his voice.

"You need to go soon?"

She tried not to read too much into his tone. It was very early and he wasn't fully awake—the thickness and depth to his voice was most likely a sign of the hour and not of any emotion he felt toward her commitment to flee from the state. Though, if she knew him as well as she tended to think she did, he wasn't long for Connecticut either. He'd be back in Philadelphia or New York, or wherever he hung his hat these days. She'd hoped he was still in Philly. He'd seemed to be happy there.

"What time is it?" she asked, not wanting to raise her head off his torso to check. She felt his muscles under her cheek strain as he checked for her.

"Ten after five."

"I have a couple of hours," she yawned.

"You sound tired," he teased, his hand now moving to stroke her hair. She closed her eyes at the touch.

"I had the dirtiest dreams," she mused, bringing a smile to his face.

"I want to hear all about them," he encouraged, his hand stilling as he kissed the top of her head.

She leaned up to kiss him on the lips. "Well, you were the star."

"Such an honor," he murmured back, kissing her with his full attention. He was no longer asleep by any means. He could feel every inch of her pressing into him, and he was amazed that his body had succumbed to sleep for as long as it had under these conditions. Not only did it feel like wasted time, but he attempted to not focus on how good it felt to wake up with her naked form clinging to his. That was the part that would be difficult not to wish to repeat. Talk about something worth waking up for. Hell, he could even consider becoming one of those elusive morning people—though most likely they'd just stay up late every night and sleep in together. Both options were best pushed out of his mind, as they weren't likely to come to fruition. Soon he'd take his papers and walk back out the back door and she'd catch whatever form of transportation she had lined up to take her back out on the road.

"I have a feeling I'll be dreaming about you a lot in the near future," she admitted as she kissed his chest.

"What, you didn't get enough last night?" he teased in a light tone, but part of him—more than he'd care to admit—wanted to know the answer in the worst way.

"Did you?" she asked, pausing to gaze up at him with those wide blue eyes. She appeared innocent and alluring, all at once. These were the two characteristics that she would always embody to him.

"No," he admitted. "But I'm a greedy bastard. Can't always go by me."

She smiled at him, a coy half-smile. Similar to what he often shot her way. "If I could stay longer," she began.

"But you can't. And neither can I. We have work." He was fast to correct her wishful thinking.

"My work takes me all over," she hinted.

"So does mine. I have a lot of frequent flier miles racked up."

This caught her interest. She assumed he was just pushing her none-too-subtle hints out of the conversation, unwilling to extend this reprieve they'd been granted. But this last insight seemed to be a hint of his own.

"Yeah? Are you able to get away from work now and then?"

He licked his bottom lip. She'd risen up on her elbow, bringing her chest into his view as opposed to pressed into his ribs. "I'm away right now."

"But if you should, say, get a text from a friend that this friend was stuck in a hotel room in Kansas, you could jump on a plane and come visit this friend?"

He stared into her eyes for a long minute. She assumed he was assessing her offer, and truly taking stock in what it might mean, both for now and the future.

"Does this hotel have room service?"

She smacked his chest with an open palm. "I'm serious."

"So am I. If we're going to do this again, I'm going to need sustenance. I feel like I need an IV drip right now."

"You look like you'll survive to me," she assured him.

"Fine, then how about this? If you're going to fly me out to be your sexual entertainment on the road, you owe me dinner first?"

She considered his counter. "I think we can come to some sort of compromise. Would you really show up?"

He nodded. "And when you're in Philly?" he posed.

"I make house calls," she nodded in return. "Besides, I bet your place has books I can borrow. The only book I ever find in hotels is the Bible."

"Now we get to it. You just want to steal my books."

"Well, I can't steal the Bible," she teased. "That was another of our strengths," she said softly. "It wasn't just sexual tension."

"I know," he assured her, kissing her again.

She opened her eyes a few seconds after he broke the kiss. She glanced at the nightstand and noticed that there were still two condoms left from the handful she'd obtained the night before. She also noticed that she needed to get up and showered if she had any hope of making her connection.

"So, I should probably shower. Join me?"

"You are an evil woman," he moaned as she tossed the covers back and slid over him to exit the bed. She picked up the two foil wrapped packets and held one out to him.

"Again with the expectations," he wiggled an eyebrow at her as he too stood up from the bed.

"One's for the shower. You take the other one for a later date."

"You want to be my condom supplier?" he teased.

"If you use it before you see me again, I don't want to hear about it," she closed her eyes and shook her head. He was wrapping his arms around her waist a second later.

"There's no one else. Do you want it to stay that way?" he probed.

"I… can't ask that from you. Not right now," she shook her head, as logic attempted to rule her thoughts.

"It wouldn't be a hardship. I mean, assuming you don't wait too long to ask for some company. If last night was any indication, you'd be worth the trip. I know you're worth the wait."

"We aren't staying in St. Louis, but we'll be in Rapid City on Thursday, overnight."

He looked at her in surprise. "You really want to do this?"

"If you don't," she backtracked, her voice not upset in the least. "But I think you were right. Last night did change something. For me, anyway. It made me realize that what used to be there could still be there. That part of us still works, and maybe if our timing wasn't bad for once," she led.

"It's not ideal," he interjected.

"No," she admitted. "But it's possible. I won't be on the road that much longer. And I've been sniffing around; I could have my pick of cities, within reason, when I'm done. I have connections, in New York, Philadelphia. And this," she ran a hand down his chest lightly, "time could let us decide if we would want to pursue something more… stable."

He kissed her and nodded. "So, what you're saying is, I'm that good, huh?"

"Oh, yeah," she appeased his ego, taking him by the hand and leading him toward the shower. "I think I'm addicted."

"Good thing you're my condom supplier," he said as he kissed her while they walked. It was a good thing she knew the route from memory, or they'd be intersecting with walls. "By the way, we're running low."

"I'll stock up," she promised as he shut the door the bathroom and she set about steaming the small room up.


End file.
